I shrug. “Anything is possible, I guess.”
“Mind if I come in and wait for him?”
Sighing, I step back from the door. “Come on in.”
“Thanks, girl.” GG pulls open the screen door and enters the house.
Now I don’t have a problem with GG. She’s cool people. And she turns plenty of niggas’ heads despite carrying more than two hundred pounds on her frame. The weight is where it counts: tits and ass. Compared to all the trifling hoes Charlie used to deal with, GG is my favorite. She has never said anything out of pocket to me and checks my brother when his brotherly teasing goes too far.
“Hey, Lil Bit. Y’all girls just hanging out?” she asks, walking into the kitchen.
“Oh, hey.” Lil Bit glances up from the baby and smiles.
“Aww.You brought over . . .” She stops and frowns at the baby. Undoubtedly she doesn’t recognize the child as one of Lil Bit’s kids.
“Oh. He’s not mine,” Lil Bit answers.
“Ah. Thank goodness. I thought my mind was playing tricks on me,” GG laughs.
I, on the other hand, want to slap the taste out my girl’s mouth. How many times have I told her to never answer a question that hasn’t been asked?
GG bounces her head and grins at the suckling baby. “You two are babysitting?”
“Something like that,” I tell her and then shuffle over to the microwave just as the timer beeps. “Want a Hot Pocket?”
“Pass.” GG shakes her head. “I don’t know how you can eat that shit.”
“What the fuck you talkin’ about? This is the breakfast of champions.”
GG laughs. “Y’all petals heard about our niggas puttin’ in work last night?” she asks. “The shit made national news. We may have lost Fat Ace, but Python got his; roasted and flipped off the old Memphis-Arkansas Bridge.”
“Fo real?” I ask, only mildly interested.
“Yup.” GG tosses up our gang signs. “Our people blew up that eyesore, the Pink Monkey, too. ’Bout muthafuckin’ time. Those bitch-ass hoes working on those poles spread more shit than the Center of Disease Control can keep up with.”
Since GG’s a nurse at one of the free clinics, I guess she would know.
“It just too bad the murder train didn’t make it all the way to Shotgun Row, those roaches need to be exterminated.You feel me?”
Lil Bit and I nod.
“Fuck. Bishop is ordering a blackout on that nigga. He wants anyone even remotely related to that slithering muthafucka wiped out—given how many babies and baby mommas that nigga got, it could take a while.”
Me and Lil Bit look at each other.
“Shit. It ain’t gonna be too hard getting at his main bitch, LeShelle. Her ass is up in the hospital fighting for her life.”
“What?”
GG smirks. “Yeah. Word is that the bitch’s sister finally snapped out of it and tried to kill her. Poetic justice, huh?”
My mind reels. Did I do all that bullshit last night for nothing?
“Bishop ordered it? Don’t you mean Lucifer?” Lil Bit asks.
GG pauses, but then ends up shrugging her shoulders. “Yo, I don’t know how all this gonna shake out. The throne is hers by right, but . . .”
“She has a pussy,” I fill in for her.
GG looks sheepish. “I ain’t got a dog in this fight. I’m a Flower through and through. I let our niggas handle the soldiering shit.”
“I hear you on that,” I say, but I still think the politics are pretty fucked up. Why should it matter whether she has a dick or a pussy in between her legs? Lucifer has put in more work than Bishop—and people fear her name more than her brother. Fuck, it don’t take much to put a finger to a trigger nowadays. The measure of a true gangster is the ability to put in wet work—and Lucifer is a fuckin’ artist with a knife. Kinda like how I was on that yellow bitch last night.
A smile ghosts around my lips as my gaze shifts to the now-sleeping baby in Lil Bit’s arms.
“Anyway,” GG continues. “Somebody gonna have to step up because the Crips smell blood in the water.”
“What do you mean?”
GG shrugs again. “I’m telling you what I heard.”
One thing about GG, her ass hears everything. Just as I think that shit, I catch her sneaking another peek at the baby. Is it possible that she already knows? Where the fuck is Adaryl?
Lil Bit struggles to keep up with the conversation. “So what you saying? Those niggas are thinking about doubling up on us?”
“Get the fuck out of here.”
“That or take over the game,” GG says. “Think about it. With Python and Fat Ace wiped off the map and Lucifer and Bishop potentially fighting for the throne—the city is primed for a fuckin’ Crip hostile takeover.”
12
Shariffa
CRIP RIDDA.
Standing before the floor-to-ceiling mirror, I smile at my new tat inked across my lower back. This shit is gonna put a smile on Lynch’s face when I’m riding his shit tonight. I tend to get all extra tryna erase my new set’s memory that my ass ain’t always been flagged for the Grape Street Crips. Five years ago, my ass was the HBIC of the Queen Gs—that is until a Crip nigga by the name of King Loc got my ass in a twist. Next thing I know, I was creeping on my nigga, Python, thinking my ass was too muthafuckin’ slick.
But shit done in the dark always comes to light. Python rolled up on King Loc and riddled him with so many bullets his ass had to be identified by dental records. After making my ass watch, Python turned his wrath on me. I only remember the first couple punches before I blacked out. When I woke up, I was laid up in the hospital and sucking on a tube for months.
For a long time, I hated that I even woke up. I was dead to the Gangster Disciples and I knew when I crawled out of the hospital that any member from my old family was going to blast my ass on sight for the disrespect.To add insult to injury, Python wasted no time putting another bitch in his bed and crowning her head bitch.
I know my ass was wrong, but it didn’t mean that I didn’t love Python. If anything, I loved him too hard. But why was it okay for him to drop seeds all over the place? I was tired of being played. The straw that broke the camel’s back was when I learned that Python was still dealing with some cop’s daughter who he had feelings for back in high school. His ass was still in love with the bitch and thought my ass didn’t know.
Shit. Every bitch gets tired of being played.
I looked for a nigga that was gonna make me feel special.
In the end, that shit almost got me killed.
Fuck that ugly muthafucka. Him and them nasty-ass snakes he always had slithering in the bed. That shit was demonic as fuck. The muthafucka could only bust a nut when he was drilling a bitch’s ass and choking her out. I didn’t need to get that fuckin’ close to death in order to bust a nut. Besides, that nigga never loved me—he was still hung up on that bitch-ass cop whose daddy ran the ultimate street gang: the police.
Still, I felt some kind of way when I was replaced so fast.
Python’s new bitch has made a rep for herself.Word spread quickly that her ass wasn’t the bitch to fuck with. She made a lot of bitches across all sets step up their game. Now it’s common knowledge that Queen Gs, Flowers, and Crippettes put in more work than the average foot soldier.
Starting over in a new set wasn’t easy. In fact, it was damn near impossible. I lived with the constant threat of sucking on a nigga’s 9’s. Nobody trusted my ass. I went through some humiliating shit to climb up the ranks. But what else was a bitch gonna do, roll over and die?
Naw. Muthafuckas got me twisted if they thought that shit. I’m a fuckin’ survivor.You can drop my ass in the middle of a deserted island and my ass would munch on seafood and coconut milk like a muthafucka.
Shit started looking up for me with the Grape Street Crips when I cliqued up on a bank robbery. My ass rocked a Kel-Tec KSG Shotgun like I birthed that muthafucka. The Fat Albert security guard tried me and I
deflated that gut like a flat tire. The score took less than two minutes, but it was a score that changed my rep and my life.
Sure. Every now and then a bitch looks at me sideways, but I always make sure that it’s the last time.
Lynch, a chief enforcer, peeked my gangster and liked that I kept my shit tight with my fitness. Bitches always kill me how they let they shit go sometimes.You can go hard, but you ain’t gotta look hard. Anyways, Lynch caught my eye, too. Not only is his gangster on point, but he’s a cute muthafucka. Six feet, Hershey’s-Bar-brown and built like a football quarterback—complete with a tight ass—I couldn’t wait to eat his chocolaty ass.
I’m not sayin’ my new man ain’t got his own fetishes, he does. But it’s shit that I can deal with.
Two years after we hooked up, I birthed our twin boys and took his last name: Rodgers.
My ass is official—sky’s the limit. I make sure that my nigga knows that there’s nothing that I won’t do for him. Now, looking back on all the shit I’ve been through, I have to say I wouldn’t change a muthafuckin’ thing.
Karma is a bitch.
The Gangster Disciple and Vice Lord drama is playing in the streets and all over the news like a bad hood soap opera. Ain’t nobody been able to confirm shit about Python’s status, but shit is a hot mess on Shotgun Row. Ain’t no telling how those niggas over there are feeding themselves. Things a little different over on Ruby Cove with the Vice Lords—them muthafuckas have too many chiefs and not enough Indians. That don’t mean we ain’t trying they asses though.We play this shit right and we can rule the whole damn city. I smirk while an image of Python’s car flipping off that bridge plays in my head.
Yeah. Karma is a muthafuckin’ bitch.
“You like it?” Crunk asks, shutting off the needle and admiring his work.
“Yeah, nigga.You did your thang.” Instead of cash, I pass his ass a care package. “Go ahead and rock it up.You earned that shit.”
Crunk pockets his shit. “Stay skeemin, diva.”
“Watch me push on all they asses.”
He chokes on a couple of staccato chuckles as I look around for my bitch, Trigger.
I spot her ass in the back rubbing her titties on some underage corner boy. Muthfucka is probably skeeting in his pants with her titties in his face. I’m gonna hand it to my girl, bitch is a quarter piece in a jar of dimes. Men loved her Heinz-57 ass. Her Asian momma gave her silky black hair and half-moon eyes and her mulatto daddy gave her his green eyes. Niggas fall into a trance wherever she goes.
“Bitch, you ready?” I ask, glancing down at the time on my smartphone. “We gotta roll out.”
“I’m always ready, bitch,”Trigger says, turning with a smile. “I was getting tired of playing with this nigga anyway.”
Young buck glares at me the second Trigger steps back.
I laugh in his face and then roll out of Crunk’s Ink. At seven sharp, we hook up with our girls Shacardi, Brika, and Jaqorya, and gear up. I ain’t talking about no regular combat shit. We got our flyest shit on, causing a scene. By the time we get our stroll on, laughing and acting silly, every nigga we pass on Orange Mound try to push up on us. We flirt with a couple, but keep it moving. When our target is in sight, we slow down, making sure the lookout boys get an eyeful.
“Yo, shawty. Let me holler at you,” says this lanky-ass nigga with dreads hanging to the center of his back, flashing his yellow teeth.
We look around, tryna figure out who the hell he’s talking to.
“You, China doll,” he says, pointing to Trigger. “What yo name is?”
Trigger puts on her shy act and creeps on up to the duplex to hear his game. But the second she pushes her titties up on him, muthafucka also gets a .45 pressed against his temple. “The name is Trigger, Rasta—as in I have an itchy one. Now make the wrong fuckin’ move.”
Rasta freezes up as me and the girls rush up the stairs. We pull hardware out from our titties and panties and force the dude out front to be a human shield.
“Open the door,” I hiss.
“A’ight. Chill,” he says in a squeaky-ass voice.
“Shut the fuck up,” I snap, grinding my .357 in his back. He gets the point and opens the door of the VL trap house. Quiet as a mouse we creep through the door. Ain’t shit on the first floor—no furniture, no TV—nothing. The only option is to head up the staircase. Shacardi and Jaqorya hang back and hug the front door. Trigger and I force our hostage to another door on the top floor.
“Open it,” I order, feeling a surge of adrenaline.
“Y’all bitches don’t want to do this,” he argues back.
“Fuck this,” Trigger says, then blasts the lock and kicks the door down.
We shove Rasta through first.
He screams as his boys on the other side blast his ass full of holes. We break out Charlie’s Angels-style from behind our human shield, picking these niggas off left and right.
We keep our shit tight and in less than three seconds we got seven dead niggas at our feet, a table stacked with money, bricks, and weapons. Ka-ching!
“Move it! Move it! Move it,” I shout. We take another thirty seconds to grab as much shit as we can and then run our asses back out of the door. As we race downstairs, the back door bursts open.
Shacardi and Jaqorya start blasting holding back those black and gold niggas. The five naked bitches are lying face down on the floor, screaming and shit as the place turns into a complete war zone. We get to the front door, only for more bullets to whiz by our heads. In the distance, wheels squeal and the beautiful sound of Brika’s TEC-9, mowing niggas down, fills the air as she jets her Denali to our rescue.
Heels be damned, we get our G.I. Jane on, taking niggas out like a fuckin’ video game. In a blink of an eye, we all jump in with our stash and then peel off the block, laughing our asses off.
“C’Z UP, NIGGAS!”
Three trap houses in three days—this shit is like taking candy from a baby.
13
Lucifer
Propped up in my bed looking half-mummified for two weeks, I can’t stop myself from watching the YouTube news clip of Dougie and Python crashing on the old Memphis-Arkansas Bridge. The force with which the SUV hits what has to be the gas line of the Monte Carlo takes my breath away each and every time because I know Mason was in there and was probably burned to a crisp by the time the car hit the Mississippi River below.
Oh God, Mason.
When I’m not playing this clip, I’m playing the clip of the city’s search-and-rescue team extracting the vehicles out of the river. So far, they’ve only recovered Dougie’s body, halfway to Louisiana. Any day, they’ll find Mason.
Any day.
“That can’t be healthy.”
Startled, I jerk my head up to see Cousin Skeet, our resident dirty police captain, standing in my doorway out of uniform. “What are you doing here?”
“What the hell do you think? You guys got a little carried away and turned the whole fuckin’ city into a damn war zone.”
“Don’t play stupid.You know how we get down.You supplied the fuckin’ weapons.”
“I always supply the weapons, but I didn’t expect y’all to get sloppy. I got the whole fuckin’ city breathing down my neck.The body count is so high Homeland Security is looking at us sideways.”
“You got your grandson back.”
“Yeah.That’s the one good thing you guys got right.” Skeet sucks in a deep breath. “Thank you.”
I would say he was welcome, but since I lost Mason, I didn’t think it was a fair exchange.
“So. How are you holding up?”
I frown. Are we supposed to be friends now? “How does it look like I’m holding up?”
Skeet’s gaze sweeps over the cast on both my arm and leg. “It looks like all the king’s horses and all the king’s men put you back together again.”
I smile without having meant to.
“As for . . . Mason,” he clears his throat. “I’m sorry for y
our loss.”
My heart clenches like a mild heart attack. “Thanks.” I study him to see if there’s any trace of him grieving for the son he never claimed or knew was his. In the end, I couldn’t tell. “I’m sorry for your loss as well.”
He looks confused. “Melanie,” I say. “I never gave you my condolence for the loss of your daughter.”
He nods. “Thanks.”
We fall silent for a few awkward seconds before he remembers some more news. “By the way, LeShelle Murphy is laid up in the hospital.”
“I heard.”
Skeet chuckles. “Apparently, her younger sister snapped out of her psychosis out at the mental hospital and damn near stabbed her to death with a pair of sewing needles. She’s listed in critical condition at Baptist Memorial.”
“I’ll send—”
“No. No. No.” Skeet shakes his head.
“I wasn’t asking for permission,” I tell him.
“Hands off. I can’t have or afford for you guys to go shooting up the hospital again. And as much as I want to strangle the bitch myself for what she’s put Christopher through, she’s going through the system. That’s if she survives.”
“You gotta be shitting me.What the hell am I supposed to tell Profit?”
“I don’t care what you tell him. Keep his ass out of that fuckin’ hospital. I gotta start closing cases before my new boss tosses words like ‘early retirement’ around. Matter-of-fact, I’d appreciate it if the Vice Lords eased up on the body count for the rest of the year.”
I laugh. “We’re in the middle of two wars and you want me to call a cease-fire?” That’s the last thing my soldiers wanna hear from their first female chief.
“Look. It is what it is. I’m cutting you off on any more weapons until the first of the year. If you gotta eighty-six somebody, please do me the courtesy of dropping the body over the state line.”
“Oh. You’re cutting me off?” Muthafuckas are already testing me.
“Shit, Willow. Don’t take it personally. It’s just for a couple of months.”
Pissed, I glare at him until he starts backpedaling out of my room.
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